Smarter, Braver, Stronger
by glitter-lace-sophistication
Summary: "A hero is an ordinary individual who finds the strength to persevere and endure in spite of overwhelming obstacles."


_A/N: story for the winter fic exchange in response to lil'mousie's promt How does Elizabeth handle a failure at work?_

Elizabeth watched in horror from the confines of her office as bombs exploded and chaos ensued halfway across the world. Within a matter of seconds, she knew Blake would come striding through the doorway, pushing her toward the motorcade. Surely, she would be summoned to the situation room.

As if on cue, Blake's frantic footfalls entered into earshot. She closed her eyes, only brought out of her trance when his shoulder slammed into the doorframe in his haste. "Ma'am, Russell Jackson has requested you in the situation room."

She turned off the television, sliding her heels back on her feet and throwing her coat over her shoulders on her way through the office and toward the elevators.

...

"Bess, Assad has gotten ahold of nuclear weapons, and we need to make a decision quickly." She had barely made her way through the door before Conrad bombarded her with information.

"I know, sir. I was keeping tabs on the situation in my office." If she was hoping to sit, the frantic energy of the room told her that was probably unwise. "I have been in contact with officials in the Czech embassy in Damascus," she paced the side of the table, putting her glasses on as she flipped through a file she had been given on the drive to the White House. "So far the specifics of the attack are undetermined."

"Undetermined?" The volume of Conrad's voice had raised, the octave indicative of an underlying panic he would never admit to possessing. "I just saw a group of US operatives get blown to pieces, and you're telling me that is _undetermined?_ "

"Sir, I think—"

"I think we need to figure out what the hell is going on and shut it down."

She exhales, slowly, knowing she would never be able to assist in the situation without a cool head on her shoulders. "Agreed, sir." Her voice was quiet, heavy with the weight of the situation that was undoubtedly resting on her shoulders.

The cabinet dismissed and Elizabeth retreated to a conference room deep within the halls of the basement. She had surrounded herself with five star generals, CIA operatives, and senior members whom she prayed would help define and end the situation happening in Syria.

"That's great news, lieutenant. Backchannel through the Swiss embassy and see if we can get eyes on the ground."

"Madam Secretary, I have the French ambassador on the line for you." Everything seemed to blur as time moved more and more quickly around her. She accepted the cell phone, unaware of where it materialized from, before rubbing the heel of her palm sharply into her temple.

"Bonjour Madame Ambassadeur. Avez-vous eu des developpements que vous pouvez parler?" The conversation progressed in a haze as she frantically scribbled notes on a scrap piece on the edge of the table. She hung up the phone, tossing it on to the table, oblivious when it skidded to the center, colliding with a stack of folders, pens scattering.

Just as she was moving to a spare laptop, a new face entered the room. "Ma'am, the cabinet is reconvening in the situation room."

She entered the room, seeing a live feed on the screen that she and her team had established roughly fifteen minutes ago, "We need to move fast, Bess." Conrad moved around the head of the table, keeping his eyes on the display of the burning Syrian town. "We have eyes on one of Assad's most dangerous leaders, but we need confirmation from your intel."

The truth was, all the information she had gathered had been severely circumstantial. Neither the Czech nor the French embassies had been able to give her concrete information about the attack in the town square. She had insight from senior officials and a great deal of speculation as to a clear motive, but she felt as if she was grasping at straws.

Anxiety vibrated her spine as she struggled to find air in the crowded room. She was nervous, they all knew it, but she had to remain confident. Her level head and her ability to think outside the box was why Conrad had tapped her for the position nearly two years ago. Now was not the time to crack under pressure.

"Bess, I need information. If we are going to bomb the cell, I'm going to need a location." He took a place next to her side. "Where are they hiding out?"

They had narrowed the location down to two places. Either the cell was taking shelter in an abandoned hospital or in a home located in a highly residential area.

The room fell silent, her exhale nearly audible from the opposite corner. "The hospital, sir." It was a 50/50 chance, and all the intel she had gathered was pointing her toward the abandoned facility.

"You heard her Captain! I want a ground team en route to the hospital."

* * *

Elizabeth didn't quite remember the drive home. If she was being honest, she didn't remember much of the last six hours. Beside the glaring fact that she had been wrong. She followed the details that had been given to her, all of them had been pointing in one direction, and she too easily followed that path, only being questioned by hindsight. Though she had arrived home nearly five minutes ago, she still sat motionless in the back seat of the black SUV, willing herself to move as the heat drained from her body.

She shut her eyes tightly, mustering all the strength she had to open the door and move toward the safety of her home. Shutting the door behind her, it was clear that her children had gone out for the evening, likely to return from friends' houses tomorrow. She dropped her briefcase, feeling her heart drop along with it. The clatter of her heels hitting the wall shattered through the quiet ambiance of the foyer, sending a piercing vibration through her eardrum. She made no attempt to place her coat in the closet, piling it on top of her discarded belongings as she staggered into the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of tequila on her way up to her bedroom.

Her calloused feet slid across the hardwood flooring of the steps, praying that not meeting Henry at the door had meant he was still at work.

Luckily, her assumption had been correct, as she entered the darkened bedroom, placing the bottle on the dresser before shedding her clothes and finding a pair of lounge pants and an oversized sweater to cocoon herself within. She busied herself as long as she could, scrubbing the makeup from her face, brushing her teeth, and staring at her exhausted reflection in the mirror before reentering the moonlit bedroom.

She hadn't bothered turning the lights on. Henry was home yet; there was no reason to do so. She grabbed a blanket from the back of the chair in the corner of the room, retrieved the bottle of tequila from the dresser, and retreated into the window seat, staring out the window at the silent street below.

If Henry were here she knew he would likely pry the bottle from her hands, enveloping her in his arms in an attempt to quell the fears that she knew alcohol never would. Her head fell to the side, resting in the corners intersection of the wall.

It didn't matter what Henry would do, or what he would say. She was alone in her house after what had turned out to be, debatably, one of the shittiest days on the job.

" _The hospital, sir."_ The words echoed in the back of her mind. She knew she had to make a choice. Either bomb the abandoned hospital or bomb a residential home. She had followed the signs to the hospital she had assumed to be abandoned.

 _Except it wasn't abandoned._

She felt bile rise within her throat as tears stung her fatigued eyes. She took a swig of the alcohol, feeling it burn the back of her throat. She took another long swig, hoping to inundate her senses before they could respond again.

"Damnit!" she yelled, slamming the bottle down beside her thigh. Children were dead because of her. Mothers and fathers had traveled to the structure in order to receive life-saving care from a non-governmental organization, undoubtedly one much like the one Will was a part of.

They had witnessed the death of doctors, most likely the only ones skilled enough to save the lives of their family members, of their children. She had weighed the costs. Being wrong about the terrorist cell and bombing a residential area would mean the loss of hundreds of thousands of innocent lives. Bombing the hospital, even though it seemed to be the correct decision, it also seemed to be the safe decision. A hospital that hadn't been occupied in months would likely only harm a few squatters, little risk would be involved.

She had been wrong, though.

The NGO workers had set up within the walls of the hospital without notifying any of the nearby embassies, meaning the information she received from both the Swiss and the Czech embassies was not accurate.

A frustrated tear slid timidly down her cheek. Quickly, though, she swiped it away with her hand, taking another long gulp from the bottle in her hand.

The disappointment vibrating in her chest and the thoughts swirling through her head made the otherwise silent room fill with the deafening hum of her failure.

* * *

"Babe?" Henry entered the house quietly, apprehensive about the state he may find her in when he returned. He wasn't surprised when he saw a pile of her discarded belongings in a heap by the door, her shoes laying haphazardly on the floor as if she had kicked them off on her way to the kitchen. "Babe?" he repeated his call, seeing the cabinet lights of the kitchen burn through the darkness. He popped his head around each corner, finding darkness in each room.

After hearing the events of the day recounted, he figured she had probably headed straight to their bedroom, but couldn't be too sure.

He loosened his tie, holding his shoes in his hand as he headed quietly up the stairs and toward their bedroom. The darkness by which he was met gave him the impression she had already gone to bed, which was a plan that sounded delightful to him after a long day.

Silently, he hung his jacket in the closet before throwing his shirt and pants into the hamper and heading into the bathroom to brush his teeth by the glow of the nightlight that hung by the mirror. His palm slid heavily across his face as he reentered the bedroom, fully intending to slip under the covers and pull his wife into his arms.

Just as he set his alarm and prepared to pull the covers back, though, a stifled sob from across the room caught his attention. "Elizabeth?" His voice was timid, unsure of what he was seeing. Her shadowed form shook lightly, but she made no other acknowledgement of his presence. He abandoned his thoughts of sleep as he strode across the room and stopped just behind her.

He leaned forward, grazing his fingers along her shoulder. As his lips gravitated toward her hair, though, he was overwhelmed with the smell of alcohol. He twitched in surprise before coaxing her forward and sitting behind her against the wall.

"Elizabeth, babe," he ran his fingers through her hair, pressing her head against his chest. "What happened today?" She gripped the bottle tighter in her pale knuckles before taking another drink. "Elizabeth…" He pried the bottle from her hands just as she knew he would, but she didn't speak. The tears came quicker, as if Henry's presence brought an aura of shame into the room. She didn't want to say it out loud. Not to herself, and especially not to him.

He pulled her closer, feeling her breath hitch when he kissed her temple. He intertwined their fingers, knowing if he didn't occupy her hand she would surely reach for the bottle again. "Shh," he cooed gently. "It's going to be okay."

Elizabeth turned her body, burying her face in Henry's neck. "They're dead." She whispered hoarsely. "They're all dead because I made the wrong call. What if it had been Will? I know he's going to be pissed when he hears about this. What did I do?" Her breths came as rapidly as her words, tears rolling down her face and onto his skin.

"You can't place all the blame on yourself. You are not the only one who was involved in this decision." She turned to look in his eyes, but left her head resting heavily on his shoulder.

"I made the call, though."

"You gathered information with a team and advised the president. _Dalton_ is the one who made the final call."

"There were children there, babies who didn't stand a chance." Her willingness to avoid argument over the decision gave Henry hope that maybe she agreed with him. Perhaps she was willing to concede one point in order to focus on one that held more weight in her mind.

"It is the toughest part of the job." He agreed. "Knowing that innocent civilians are dying while stuck in the middle of government wars and terrorist motives is always the hardest part to accept." She nodded her head, resting her forehead against his neck.

"It's not fair." Her voice suddenly sounded so small, more fragile than a child.

"No," he whispered. "It isn't fair." He leaned down, kissing her forehead. He kissed the tip of her nose before connecting his lips with hers in a gentle kiss. It was the moments like this that reminded him just how fragile she was. Behind her intimidating, formidable exterior she truly was just the 19-year-old girl he had fallen in love with nearly 30 years ago, sometimes he forgot. It seemed she dealt with crisis on a daily basis, and it wasn't until she cracked that he remembered just how deeply she felt every tragedy.

"I don't know what my next move is."

He gently slid from behind her curled form and lifted her into his arms, walking toward the bed and resting her head gently on the pillow. "I'll get a glass of water and some aspirin. Try to sleep." He ran his thumb gently over her cheek, leaning down to kiss her hairline.

He returned from the bathroom, placing both the pill and the cup on her bedside table before sliding into bed behind her, pulling her into his arms.

"Am I a monster, Henry?" she threaded her fingers with his, kissing his knuckles lazily.

"Of course, not." He whispered into the darkness. "You're just a public servant doing her best to make the world a safer place."

"You make me sound like a hero." Her voice was deep, quiet as she lingered on the edge of sleep.

"You _are_ a hero." He whispered in the same tone. "You're my hero."

"I love you Henry."

"I love you too, babe." He rubbed her hip, kissing the back of her head. "Get some sleep, now, you need it." He felt her body relax as she leaned back against his chest and let her eyes fall closed. "You _are_ my hero." He repeated before letting his own eyes fall closed as he drifted into sleep.


End file.
